


A Hero and a Hunter

by TheTomorrowKnight



Category: Heroes (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-05-17 19:15:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5882380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTomorrowKnight/pseuds/TheTomorrowKnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's always been scared and worried about Sam and his powers, of where it will lead him. But his world gets even stranger when they find a case where a telekinetic may be to blame, and Dean starts to see he might have powers of his own. But Dean doesn't meet the requirements like Sam or Andy... S1 Heroes. S2 Supernatural.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

For the first few weeks after Dad's death, I had established a routine. Wake up, work on the Impala, eat, and sleep. But Sam kept interrupting those plans. He'd ask if I was okay, and tried to make me feel better about Dad's death, but he didn't know anything.

I had been seconds away from dying. I knew it, I felt it. The reaper was hot on my trail. And then, I was perfect. The doctors called it a miracle. There's no such thing. Dad had been fine. Recovering well. Then, five minutes after I'm all better, he's stone cold and dead. I hadn't told Bobby, or Sam. What was I supposed to say? Somehow I'm alive because Dad gave up his life? I'd almost asked Bobby about it a few times, but how could I? I should have died. Not Dad.

Seeing Sam didn't help either. He kept reminding me of Dad's last words. You'd think his last words would be sappy, like everyone elses. I love you, or goodbye. You know, sentimental crap. Not Dad. No, he had to warn me about Sam. According to his twisted mind, I would have to save Sam or kill him. I didn't know what he meant, and it scared the hell outta me. Sam was my little brother, dammit.

"Dean, are you okay?"

I sighed. Sam was in the drivers seat of my newly restored Impala, since he thought I needed the rest. Not that I could get much sleep with those thoughts drifting through my head. He kept asking about me, wanting to know what was up. I loved the guy, but Sam could be overly pushing sometimes, and he always seemed to choose the worst moments for a heart-to-heart.

"I'm fine."

"Dean…"

"Alright, fine." I gave in. "Pull over. We'll hug it out, cry, and complain about our fucked up lives. And you know, after that touching bromance, maybe we can go to Disney Land. We're headed in that direction anyway." I turned away after the outburst, but out of the corner of my eye I could see Sam open his mouth to say something. He snapped it close though, and focused on the road again.

I hadn't been kidding about or proximity to the so called 'happiest place on Earth'. Sam and I had come across one of the most bizarre cases. Apparently some sicko was traveling around the country, slicing the tops of peoples' heads off. Sam had scoffed when I suggested we were dealing with a zombie. It wasn't like we hadn't handled the undead before. I guess a brain eating zombie was too much of a stretch for him.

Not only was the victim's head sliced off, but he was found frozen solid. And his wife? Pinned to the staircase with cutlery. Death by kitchen utensils, Sebastian Michaelis style. Not that Sam would get the reference. He thought my 'cartoons' were stupid. It's anime, not effin' bugs bunny!

As far as we could tell, there was no connection between the victims either. No pattern. Sam insisted we just hadn't found one yet. Such an optimist. There were only two deaths remotely similar to this. Back in April, both Brian Davis and Trevor Zeitlan were found with their heads sliced off. But that was it, no other cases like theirs'. Not that I'm complaining. A smaller body count is better. It's just, odd. But hey, odd's just the beginning when you're a hunter.

"Sam." I said, getting his attention. "Any relevant mythology you can pull out from that dictionary you call a mind?"

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head. "No… I mean, I don't recall." He sighed.

"Look." I pointed at the man's sliced head. "No brain." I let my arms hang in front of me, and shuffled towards Sam. "Brains." I slurred.

"Cut it out." He responded, pushing me away.

"But I'm right."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Maybe…"

I sighed, shaking my head. That's when I got a good look at the body. I lifted up the arms, checking both sides. As far as I could tell, there weren't any other injuries besides his sliced off head, or the fact that he was a frozen popsicle before. "Sam."

"What?"

"No cuts, no bruises. Doesn't look like he put up much of a struggle."

Sam scoffed. "What's your point, Dean? Maybe he was outnumbered, maybe the guy was too strong?"

"But the guy didn't leave a mark. In fact, I'd say, our monster in question attacked from a distance."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I guess he could have come up behind him."

I nodded. "Maybe… But what about the ice? If you slice a guy's head off, there's no need to freeze him."

"Yeah… This is all weird. I mean, this can't be possible."

"Oh yeah, sure. It's not like we don't fight werewolves, ghosts or vampires. And of course there's no such thing as people who can move things with their mind, see the future…"

"Okay, I get it." Sam interrupted, flustered. "You think someone like me did this?"

I shrugged. Honestly, I was beginning to think anything was possible. There had to be more people like Sam and Max out there, and not everyone was good. Somebody had to go darkside. "Not everyone follows Uncle Ben's philosophy."

In our motel room, Sam was surrounded by library books, Dad's journal, his laptop, and was on the phone with Bobby. The idea that someone like Sam had done this was plausible, but the question was why? I've said it before, and I'll say it again- monsters I get, people are just psychotic. No pattern, no routine, nothing remotely traceable. Even if we did find prime suspect number one, how the hell were we going to go through with ganking him? Sam had only used telekinesis once, and this guy could slice peoples heads off from a distance! Speaking of which, what the fuck did he do with the brain? Eat it?

"Dean."

I turned to see Sam setting down his cell phone. Well it's about time, I thought. He'd been talking for hours.

"Bobby's got zip. Might just be someone like me."

"Assuming we're right, they could be long gone by now. I mean, I wouldn't stick around."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah, you're right. They could be anywhere by now."

I never liked cases like that. I always felt helpless, and it sucked. Our job was to save people, hunt things, that's what the family business was all about. But I guess not all monsters gave a damn about routine. Those were the smart ones. The ones who know how to avoid getting captured and or killed.

It was after one a.m. when Sam finally set the books aside and hit the hay. But like every other night, I couldn't sleep. One eye was always open, watching Sam. I wish I knew whether I was watching him out of fear or protection. I didn't know what to think of him anymore.

Five minutes later, I decided I wasn't resting anytime soon. So, quietly, I slipped out of bed, changed into jeans and Dad's old leather jacket, and snuck out the motel room. I needed a beer.

After winning another game of pool, I stuffed my earnings in my front pocket, and made my way to the bar for another round. The bartender was young, blonde and perky with her hair tied back in a high ponytail. She smiled and handed me another round at my request.

"You know," she said, resting her head in her hands. "You have the most amazing blue eyes."

I raised an eyebrow. "You hittin' on me?"

"Maybe." She beamed. "I'm off shift in another hour…"

I smiled. "Great."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam was in the middle of a tornado of flying objects, all being controlled by his telekinetic powers. I watched him, shaking, a gun in my hand. Material possessions from a television remote to the Impala flew around him in a chaotic whirlwind. I couldn't stop myself. I raised the gun and aimed at Sammy's forehead. Sam looked at me with pleading puppy dog eyes, the objects around him falling to the ground. He said something, but I couldn't hear him. All I could hear was the gunshot, as the bullet flew through his brain.

That's when I woke up, shaken and sweaty. I'd been having that same dream for weeks. But I still felt the fear and misery it had brought the first go round. Beside me, Jen, or maybe her name was Kate, shifted and finally awoke. She gave me a curious glance, and placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Dean? Is everything alright?" She asked, her overly perky attitude dropped and replaced with concern.

I nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." Glancing sideways at the blonde, I sighed. "I should go."

"Alright." She smiled, sadly. "Take care, brown eyes."

When I returned to the hotel room, there was a note from Sam on the table saying he'd gone to get coffee. I shook my head, smiling. His 'coffee' consisted of a pound of cream, sugar, and milk, I didn't think that classified as caffeine.

I threw on a clean shirt and jeans, and leafed through Sam's research. I smiled when I saw the word zombie circled with red ink. I supposed a member of the undead was easier for him to believe than a serial killer telekinetic.

I turned as the door to the motel swung open. Sam stood in the doorframe, balancing a tray with two cups of coffee and a paper bag probably containing breakfast. Sam smirked, setting the food and beverages down on the table. "Where were you last night?"

I rolled my eyes. "I couldn't sleep."

"Uh huh." He said, not convinced. "Bartender or waitress?"

I sighed, giving in. "Bartender."

"Thought so." He responded, sliding the paper bag towards me. I pulled out a greasy bacon breakfast sandwich.

"So what's the plan?" I asked, taking a bite and savoring the fried egg and melted cheese.

"I'm not sure." Sam said, setting down his coffee. "The security around this case is ridiculous."

"Not with the right I.D., Sammy." I reminded him, finishing off my sandwich. "So what can we do?"

"Well, there's crime scene for one, or the witness."

I raised an eyebrow. "Witness?"

Sam nodded. "The victim's ten year old daughter."

"Well, that sucks."

"Yeah."

I crumpled up the paper wrapping, and tossed it into the paper bag. "Well, I'll go talk to the witness, and you can go check out the crime scene."

"Sounds like a plan."

I got up from my seat, and unzipped my duffle. "Catch." I called, tossing Sam the EMF meter.

The case didn't run as smoothly as I had anticipated though. I arrived at the sheriff's department, and learned that the witness wasn't being kept there, but at the Los Angeles FBI headquarters. Which meant I wasn't going to be able to question her. The security would be insane, and my cover story would be bogus.

I returned to the hotel room, miserable. If this was our kind of gig, we wouldn't get the chance to help out. Minutes later, Sam entered, just as successful as I was. FBI had been crawling all over the crime scene, and any one of them would identify Sam to be a fake.

Needless to say, there was nothing left in L.A. for Sam and I. Great. I felt like a failure.

After a day of driving in shifts, Sam and I were back at Bobby's. It didn't take us long to realize we had absolutely nothing to do. The only case was the one in Los Angeles, I had finished working on the Impala weeks ago, and with none of Bobby's phones ringing, well, that left the three of us hanging out in Bobby's living room.

"How about a game of poker?" Bobby suggested.

I shook my head, and glanced sideways at Sam. "Sam sucks."

"Hey!" Sam cried out, offended.

I chuckled. "It's true, man."

"You know what?" Bobby said. "We'll meet here in twenty. We'll watch a movie, eat something, drink a couple beers. How's that?"

Sam and I paused considering. I grinned. "Sounds great."

True to our agreement, twenty minutes later Bobby was on the phone with Rufus- who ran into trouble with the FBI, again- which nobody was surprised about. Sam and I were seated on the couch with "Chuck Norris American Hero Collection" and "The Delta Force" tossed onto the coffee table beside a bowl of popcorn.

"I'm just saying – look, you can't really compare." Sam said.

"I don't even know you right now." I told him. "There's not even a contest."

"It depends on the criteria." Sam said, trying to justify his reasons.

"Survival is the only criteria, all right?" I argued. I grabbed one of the dvd's and stood up. "And when the crap hits the fan, it's not about who has skill. It's about who's the bigger badass. Bobby, will you please tell Sam that Chuck Norris could kick Jet Li's ass?

"Since when?" Sam asked.

I scoffed. "Since always." I set the dvd down, and grabbed the remote, taking a seat beside Sam again. He rolled his eyes and took the popcorn.

"All right, scoot, jerkface. Show your elders some respect."

"You scoot, ass-hat." Sam replied, flipping a piece of popcorn at me.

Bobby walked in and handed the beers to Sam. He took one for himself and placed another on the coffee table in front of me. I looked inside the plastic bag, which contained snacks that Sam had purchased.

"Did we get licorice?" I asked as Bobby sat down.

"No, we did not get licorice." Sam replied, with a mouth full of popcorn. "We got good snacks. Licorice is disgusting."

I raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry. I didn't quite understand that, uh, Mr. Peanut-Butter-and-Banana Sandwiches?"

"You know what? I stand by that sandwich." Sam argued. "Nobody likes licorice. I-it's – it's made of dirt."

I scoffed. "It is a classic movie food. It's right up there with popcorn."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Popcorn? Really?"

"Yes."

Sam shook his head. "You're out of your mind."

"What – it's like little chewy pieces of heaven." I defended.

"Oh, chewy pieces of heaven if you're a girl." Sam retorted.

"Whatever." I said. "Let's watch a hundred and twenty-five minutes of Chuck Norris kicking ass."

"Jet Li's better." Sam muttered.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Sam smirked.

A couple hours and three bowls of popcorn later, most of which was consumed by Sam, the three of us went our separate ways, each too tired and full of snacks to converse on an intellectual level. Not that we usually did anyhow.

It was sometime after two a.m., and I was in the bathroom, the door locked behind me. I looked over my hands and clothes, expecting to see Sam's blood splattered all over them. There were small patches of grease from the popcorn, but other than that they were perfectly clean.

I turned on the taps, and splashed the cool water on my face. I sighed, and gripped the edge of the sink. This recurring nightmare was killing me. I couldn't even look Sam in the eyes anymore. I scoffed. I was ashamed for something that hadn't happened yet, maybe it never would. But it still felt real, and scary as hell.

I ran a hand through my spiked brown hair, and looked my mirrored image in his bright green eyes. And though I felt ridiculous talking to a mirror, it was one of the small things that helped me get past my father's deadly words.

"You will not kill Sam." I told him. "I won't let you."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments/Kudos are always appreciated!


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